


you look a little bit older, a little bit colder

by ysse_writes



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-12
Updated: 2011-09-12
Packaged: 2017-10-23 16:46:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/252551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ysse_writes/pseuds/ysse_writes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ficlet for 31_days.<br/>Day/Theme: Sept 7 // you look a little bit older, a little bit colder</p>
            </blockquote>





	you look a little bit older, a little bit colder

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Kripke et al and CW own everything.

When Sam opens the door of the motel room they’d been calling home the last two weeks, he finds Dean waiting outside, sitting on the hood of the Impala.

“You’re supposed to be on a recon mission with Dad,” Sam says. He’d faked a headache this morning to get out of it. “You should go back, he might need you.”

“Dad got a call from Bobby about some rogue reaper,” Dean replies. “He figures you and I can handle a simple exorcism by ourselves.”

Sam pauses a moment, considers his options. He is caught, effectively, undeniably. He’d been hoping this confrontation wouldn’t be necessary, but he should have known better. Dean never lets him get away with anything.

He has three hundred dollars, he has a faxed copy of his Stanford registration and he has a bus to catch.

He sighs, then continues out and closes the door behind him.

He has waited too long already.

Dean moves off the hood, walks over to the driver’s side and opens the door. “Get in,” he says.

“Dean, I’m not--”

“I took care of it already,” Dean says. “Get in, ” he says, again. “I’ll give you a ride.”

Sam sighs again, and does as Dean says.

 

 

The soft thud of Sam’s duffel bag hitting the leather back seat is almost deafening to Dean. The lack of clinks and clanks, the evenness of the sound. There are no weapons in there, Dean knows. No guns, no knives, no talismans or amulets, not even any vials of holy water or sachets of protective herbs. Books, maybe, but he doubts they’re spellbooks. Just clothes, but not Sam's winter coat or his good boots.

Sam was always very good at packing, Dean thinks, wryly. If it’s not needed, it gets left behind.

He won’t find out till later that Sam has also taken the photograph of their parents that has always stood on the dresser of every motel room he and Dean have shared through the years.

He never finds out that in Sam’s wallet is a photograph of the two them as kids.

 

 

“Here,” Dean says, after they’ve been driving for a while. Sam is surprised at the wad of bills Dean shoves into his hand, a couple of thousand bucks, at least.

“Dean--”

“A couple of new cards came today,” Dean says, easily. “Just maxed out the cash advance option, is all. Call it your severance pay.”

Sam can’t read Dean’s tone. He’s confused by that, more confused than he is about the money. For the first time in his life he can’t tell what his brother is thinking, feeling, and because of this they ride in silence. The stereo isn’t even playing anything, which is the strangest thing of all. Dean is almost pathologically incapable of being quiet while driving.

Sam's shock is complete when Dean pulls over in front of the bus station.

“Dean, what--?”

Dean doesn’t say anything. Instead, he stares straight ahead until Sam takes his cue and gets out of the car.

He’s taken all of two steps away when he turns back. It can’t end this way, Sam thinks. This is no way to say goodbye.

He leans down to talk to his brother though the window. Dean is still unmoving, still looking stonily forward. “Dean, I--”

“If you’re not calling to tell us you’re coming back,” Dean says, his voice low and uneven, “then don’t call at all.”

Sam rears back in horror at this pronouncement. Dean takes this opportunity to put the car in gear and drive away.

Leaving Sam alone.

It is sheer instinct that makes Sam dig out his celphone. Dean is number one on his speed dial and he stands there a good five minutes, trying and retrying, before he finally realizes that Dean isn’t going to answer.

He stands there a few minutes longer, utterly dumbfounded. He almost starts walking back to the motel, just so he can punch out Dean, demand just what Dean meant. Then the Winchester stubbornness kicks in, the damnable Winchester pride. He flips a bird towards the direction his stupid brother disappeared and gets on the bus to California.

 

 

Every so often, when he’s alone, when he’s drunk enough or lonely enough, or even just so tired that he forgets not to, Dean reads his brother’s text messages, listens to his voicemails.

Call me, Dean, please, they always say. Please let me know you’re okay.

Dean never responds.

After two years, Sam stops trying.

 

 

©JCSA/2007


End file.
